Mors Aut Victoria
by Darth-Vulturnus
Summary: Iapetus wasn't the only immortal to ever lose his memories for a time due to the River Lethe. On rare occasions others had fallen in. Normally nothing special would result from this, but these cases were special. Pairings undecided, so open to suggestions.


**AN: To any followers (ha! as if...) just want to say that nothing is abandoned, but I have a lot of ideas so I write first chapters, post them and see what does well, then continue those first. So, for the sake of that, no flames please. They just waste your time writing them and my time reading them. Anyway, I own nothing, but I wish I did. And just want to point out, the post code isn't technically correct to a 'privet drive,' but is the post code for where street screens were filmed.**

Summary Re-hash: Iapetus wasn't the only immortal to ever lose his memories for a time due to the River Lethe. On rare occasions others had fallen in. Normally nothing special would result from this, but these cases were special.

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_**Prologue**_

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**Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England RG12 9FG**

**Wednesday, July 31, 1991**

How the Dursleys felt about Harry Potter was no big secret, as the rants made clear. What they never knew was that Harry felt the same way, but with a cold, removed seething as opposed to the Dursleys' heated, impassioned rage.

A 'cycle of hatred' one might call it if so inclined to wax poetically about the negatives. Eleven-year old Harry cared little for such negatives, for he knew the truth of the world. Love and hate were both the strongest emotions, and the easiest to manipulate when hot, as they oft blinded those bound by such influences. Find the source, and such emotions will dance to your fiddle.

His aunt hated out of spite; jealousy attributed to Lily's attributes that Petunia lacked had pushed the women over the edge. The foul woman's attitude had spilled over to her husband and son. The husband, the closest thing Harry had seen to a walrus in real life, had an obsession with everything being normal to a point that was scary. The son just followed his parents, which Harry couldn't really blame him for, unfortunately. And for some reason, they failed to see that Harry 'didn't' have any 'freakishness' himself.

After all, how could he, when his parents had died in a perfectly 'normal,' if unfortunate, accident. After all, it was rather unfair of them to blame Harry for having something when they had never seen an incident of any sort, nor did they ever tell him why he was considered to be a 'freak' by them.

It really wasn't Harry's fault that he was smart, brilliant even, as he told himself with the self-assured arrogance that can only be told when speaking an absolute truth. But he had learned to hide his brilliance, as his getting better grades than Dudley only resulted in him being locked in the cupboard for long time periods on end. Not that he couldn't escape, but it was simply easier to avoid such a fiasco in the first place. No one could be trusted, especially not these supposed 'adults' that seemed blind to anything they didn't want to see.

"Boy! Get the mail!" Ahhh, there it was again, the orders. The wal-man (or is it man-rus?) had probably gone purple from rage by now. Harry opened the mailbox, expecting the usual, which was there. With a single addition. A oversized letter addressed to him, in his cupboard under the stairs. Knowing his aunt and uncle, they would get rid of it the second they saw it. Thus, Harry discretely slipped the letter into his trousers, vowing to investigate these stalkers later.

Harry was back again in his cupboard, after all, no one would bother him here in the middle of the day. He examined the...parchment paper and wax seal? Really? How primitive were these people? Regardless, he broke open the letter and began to read. A school of magic, how very interesting.

While it could be a great opportunity, there were clearly several issues with this place and probably the society as well. First off, the school clearly has a stalker on the admissions board, as how else would they know his exact address? Furthermore, he was 'accepted' to this school, even though he had never applied. And everything seemed so...primitive and bought into the stereotypes. Which begs the question: which came first? The 'reality' or the stereotypes? Which was the other based on?

So many questions, so little time. But no matter, it would be in his best interest to play along with this foolish 'magic' charade for now. Unfortunately, these primitive wizards seemed to expect everyone to have an owl with which to send a response back. Bloody assumptions! Honestly.

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Harry wasn't counting on a rather suspicious looking owl hanging around the outside of the library window near where he spent much of his time when not at home. Convenient, these wizards were at least. Or stalkers, at worst. But to find the necessary answers to his questions, most importantly: how did he get into a school he never applied for, he would need to play this charade.

He knew he was special, after all, fire, earth, their combination: magma, and even ice jumped to his command, though ice was the easiest, followed by magma. But he knew that was a genetic quirk, specifically at lack of genetics if the blood tests he took at the hospital for public health concerns was accurate. So clearly, he wasn't totally human, so perhaps he had a parent that was alien or something? It was clearly the only plausible explanation.

After all, he knew when humans had gene problems, it resulted in a variety of mental disorders. He had read about in a book that a nice young librarian, who looked quite a bit like him, had directed him too. She had even looked at him without the disgust that most others did, due to his disheveled clothing and bad reputation due to the gossip-mongering of the Dursleys. That had earned her quite a lot of bonus points and he always managed to find time to talk to her, even write letters at times. He had told her he was Harry Potter, and she smiled knowingly, as if in on some inside joke about him he wasn't privy too. She had responded in kind, telling him she was Ms. Aste Ria.

As he approached the owl sitting on the sill of the opened window, it held out its right leg, which conveniently had a spot to which attach a letter too. He hidden the original letter in a secure place in his cupboard that one had to know was there and might only stumble upon by accident. His return letter was carefully worded, so as not too alarm anyone he needed to be wary of.

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I have several questions regarding Hogwarts before deciding whether I indeed wish to attend. Perhaps it would be possible to send a representative to answer questions and prove that this is not some elaborate hoax? After all, I have never done or seen anything 'magical' that does not have a scientific cause._

_Thank you for understanding,_

_Harry Potter_

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Minerva McGonagall opened the letter she had received from young Mr. Potter with some trepidation, wondering what might be enclosed. She wondered how the treatment the Dursleys would give poor Harry, as she knew she should have protested more against Albus' decision, would affect him.

She let out the breath she was invariably holding when she finished reading. It was good that Harry still had some curiosity left in him, but it was too removed per say, for her taste. Almost as if he, in the process of writing the letter, had gone over each sentence to make sure there were very few ways to misinterpret his intent.

Her conclusions: Harry had clearly suppressed his accidental magic in fear of retribution from the Dursleys, and as such thought Hogwarts a hoax, having no indication magic exists. He wanted someone to prove magic to him, as he was actually mulling over not attending. Preposterous! The son of Lily and James not attend Hogwarts?

'Albus must not know of this for now, as the results would be disastrous. No doubt he would send Hagrid, who, for as his goodness, would be a terrible person to answer Harry's questions and would end biasing Harry in some way. Add in the fact he cannot himself use magic, it would be no doubt convenient to Harry and cement his opinion of this being a hoax. The only other people here available to do so are Severus and I, as Albus is too busy. And I suppose I must go, as Severus would be even worse than Hagrid. While he would easily prove magic is real, he would not be open to questions. Add in the fact he would immediately turn Harry away from Hogwarts due to the man's hateful nature towards James. No, I must go myself.'

_Mr. Potter,_

_I would be glad to come and answer any questions you may have. Would this Friday at noon over lunch be amendable to you?_

_Minerva McGonagall_

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**Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England RG12 9FG**

**Friday, August 2, 1991**

Harry found himself sitting across from a rather stern-looking woman, who he believed was Professor McGonagall, dressed in long flowing robes that Harry saw as impractical. He had skipped class for this so he could avoid Dudley, while Vernon was at work and Petunia was in the hospital for bad burns that would take weeks of recovery time. Vernon had at least rightly blamed Harry for this incident, even if Harry would never admit to such a thing and nobody could ever prove it was him.

At his request, she had performed several feats of magic that had Harry convinced, but hardly awestruck. It was then, however, that young Harry decided to loosen up, and acknowledge, at least to himself, that transfiguration was awesome.

"Well, Mr. Potter." The professor began, "What would you like to with any questions you may have?"

"Well Professor, I think the most pertinent question is how the letters are addressed so specifically. Are they spelled in some way to create this, or does the admissions board contain stalkers?"

McGonagall looked to be in shock over such a question, clearly having never someone ask such a question before, "Mr. Potter. There is no admissions board nor stalkers. The letters are spell addressed."

Harry relaxed slightly, glad to know such a thing, "But how was I accepted? I never applied."

McGonagall pursed her lips, clearly not used to these type of questions, as most children just wanted to know about magic, "The names of all magical children in the UK are recorded at birth by an ancient spelled quill. Then all are sent acceptance letters for their 11th birthday."

"Good. Good. Glad to know that this house isn't being watched or some such nonsense. But tell me professor, with this magical world seeming so...primitive for lack of a better term, what prejudges still exist and what can I expect upon my re-entry. Because, let's face it, despite what the imbecilic Dursleys tell me, this scar was not gained in a car accident, it's too clean and straight. If my parents had magical, as would make sense, then I assume they died by something magic and magic of some kind that gave me this scar. In fact, given how highly identifying it is, I'm probably some sort of damn celebrity there, aren't I?"

McGonagall sighed. This might take awhile...

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**Diagon Alley, London, England**

**August 15, 1991**

Having met up with Hagrid, who was to be his guide for his trip into Diagon Alley, Harry watched with an analytical eye as Hagrid poked the correct brick to open this wizard alley. He had to pretend to be shocked. It simply wouldn't do, yet, for the wizarding world to know that their 'savior' made forays into Knockturn Alley for extra reading materials, nor that he had already gotten a wand from Gregorovitch and paid the man extra to remove the Trace. Though he supposed if he wanted to avoid Ollivander, than he would have to reveal his wand.

The amount of people in proportion to the alley's size made him wonder why they just didn't use magic to make the alley bigger. Surely such a thing was possible. Regardless, Harry was actually impressed by the majesty of the bank. The massive building of white marble certainly exuded a certain aura of intimidation.

While most wouldn't notice, Harry noticed how, as soon as he entered the bank, all the goblins took a discrete sniff and then minutely flinched. He made a mental note to investigate later, when Hagrid wasn't around. They walked up an open teller.

"Key?"

Hagrid pulled a gold key out of his pocket and handed it to the goblin, "Mr. Potter's vault please."

Harry wheeled around on Hagrid, "Why do you have my bank key?"

Hagrid sputtered for a moment, before deciding what to say, "Headmaster Dumbledore gave it to me."

Harry's face contorted into a snarl, "And he had my key why?

Hagrid looked away, clearly hiding something or just unsure. Harry would find out later, "Hagrid, I'm able to do this myself, nor do I want others to know how much money I possess. Could you please take care of any other tasks you might have to do?"

Hagrid sighed, as if beaten already, then walked over to another open teller and got out another key. Harry got into an old rail cart with Griphook? and raced down to his vault. As the vault opened, he smirked at the amount, then a thought hit him.

"Griphook, when we get back to the surface, I would like vault statements for the past eleven years. After all, if this Dumbledore had my key, presumably he had access to my money. I want to know if he's taken any."

Griphook frowned, "You mean you haven't been receiving them? We send them out monthly..."

Now it was Harry's turn to frown, "Really? How interesting..."

Griphook rubbed his lanky hands together and shook his head, "This is looking bad. We'll get to the bottom of this..."

Harry put his hand on the goblin's shoulder, smirking, "Let us not be unduly hasty. We would tip our hand too early then. We must wait and move slowly."

Later, as they shook hands, following Harry's appointment of Griphook as his account manager, the identical grins on their faces would have made even Lucifer wary.

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**Platform 9 and 3/4, Kings Cross, London, England**

**September 1, 1991**

Finding an empty compartment was not terribly difficult. The hard part had been getting to London in the first place. But that was in the past now, and one only has the future. He sat down as another boy walked in. He seemed to be about the same age, as he had unmarked robes as well, while all the older students had robes marked in some way. The boy seemed to exude a quiet confidence, like he knew what his strengths were and intended to follow through on them as far as possible while leaving his weakness to others if possible. He holding a cage which held a small toad, and Harry stood up to greet, as it polite.

"Neville Longbottom."

"Harry Potter."

Neville smiled a bit, "You're lucky Mr. Potter, that I don't buy into all the ridiculous myths surrounding you. If I did, you wouldn't have liked the consequences of telling me your name."

Harry's eyes narrowed, "Is that a threat Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville smirked as he sat down and pulled out a Self-inking quill and a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ and continued what was obviously a long series of his own notes in the margins, "Maybe, maybe not. Figure it out yourself."

Neville then pushed their heavy trunks in front of the door, blocking anyone else from entering that didn't force their way through. As Harry leaned back and pulled out his copy of _Magick Moste Evile_, they both realized this was the beginning of wonderful friendship.

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**Chamber Of Secrets Main Room, Hogwarts, Scotland**

**June 13, 1993**

Harry and Neville flicked the blood off their robes and straightened their red-gold ties as they took in the sight before them: The giant snake lain to waste, dead body smote upon the ground, the diary that controlled Ginny Weasley, impaled by a venomous fang, Ginny Weasley herself, floating about unconscious, and the shade of a sixteen year old Voldemort gone.

The face of Salazar Slytherin, covered in lava, was melting and the water, which was still churning rather dangerously, levels in the entire chamber reached the boys' knees. The walls were covered in frost and massive ice walls were scattered throughout.

Harry sighed, "So, what should we do with it? I mean, it would be a shame for all this valuable material to go to waste."

Neville pursed his lips, clearly thinking, "Given that the Sword of Gryffindor nor medium-level curses couldn't even scratch the outer scales, it might make great armor if we can find a way to mold it. Really we should use everything we can."

Harry reaches down and grabs a fang and turns it over in his hands a few times before dismissing it. Neville is not so quick to dismiss it and picks it up.

He moves to try to cut the skin with it, and to his surprise, it works with the right amount of effort, "Oi! Harry, look at this! We can cut it this way. Grab another and get to work."

Replying to the negative, Harry holds up his creation, "Hey Neville! Look at this baby! I transfigured the vertebrae into a bone spear!"

Harry, too transfixed with his new toy, doesn't notice when he gets too close to the wall and the tip hits the wall, tearing it from his grasp.

"Neville...look at this."

Neville sighs, annoyed at being interrupted, looks over at the wall, "Harry...the spear, is it okay?"

"Yes. Fine, actually. But look at the wall."

Neville gasps when he see the wall, "Did the spear do that? Because a bone spear should not leave a gash like that on a stone wall..."

"Wicked. You want it? It doesn't feel right to me. Like its someone else's..."

"How long till it reverts back?"

Harry smirked, immediately alerting Neville to what happened, "Won't. Used Solid-State on it (solid-state is the name of the ability of both Harry and Neville to, with effort dependent on size, make charms/transfigurations permanent)."

"Wonder if there's a way to make it less conspicuous..."

As if on cue, instead of the spear, there was a ring of gold on his right hand ring finger.

Neville frowned, wondering where his new toy went, "Wonder if..." As he flicked his wrist and thought about the spear, it materialized in his hand, "Very nice."

Another silver band materialized right above the gold one and he heard a voice whisper, 'A sword.'

And sure enough, when he flicked his wrist and thought about a sword, one materialized, and it seemed to be made of bone as well. He was examining it when Harry, who had been crawling around the inside getting of useless things like weak internal organs, crawled out of the mouth.

"One of the jawbones just disappeared randomly...Oh. That's where it went."

And so the dissection continued well into the night...

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**Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts, Scotland**

**Concurrently, June 13, 1993**

Dumbledore sat in his chair pondering Harry Potter. He had found that the boy's first introduction was from Minerva and not Hagrid like he planned. Hagrid would have told him about Voldemort and biased him against Slytherin immediately. He been forced to send Hagrid as the boy's Diagon Alley escort to try and make up some of the damage.

But the boy seemed somewhat impressionable then, but not as much as he would like. And Harry was far too independent for his liking. He had arrived at the train much too early and had missed the Weasley's, whom he would befriend. Ron's sloth habits and jealousy would help him from getting too far on his own. Ron Weasley couldn't even find Harry on the train.

But then things were looking up, as he noticed Harry had made fast friends with Neville Longbottom, who would drag Harry down even more academically, but would lack the jealousy. A reasonable trade-off in his mind, and far easier to let it be than try to get Weasley in there. The whole Troll incident he had hoped would add Hermione Granger to the trio, and her bossy ways would make sure the group couldn't really do anything without her.

But alas, that plan had failed, as Harry and Longbottom, when Granger tried to work with them later, had rebutted with a statement that they won't be friends with someone whose hubris overrides logical in potentially dangerous situations. But at the least, the boys allowed her to work in a homework group, so he had his hopes still.

His plan to keep Harry meek and humble through his uncle at home and then Snape at school seemed to be working, but not as much as he had hoped. Harry simply couldn't think he was in anyway important, or he might not sacrifice his life to help bring down Voldemort. And that would be disastrous.

He wasn't even forming a heated rivalry with young Malfoy, though he supposed that because Longbottom was more passive than Weasley and wouldn't encourage it like Weasley would. He had, out of the wonderful, pure, goodness of his heart, and not because he had put subtle tracking charms on it, given Harry his father's invisibility cloak. Unfortunately, he had found Harry was less curious than he hoped, so he couldn't figure out what Harry's deepest desire was. That would hinder things.

Luckily, Harry and Longbottom had managed to find the trapdoor even without Granger's studious ways. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he found the dog whimpering in the back corner, the Devil's Snare rather docile, the enchantments on the key broken, the chess pieces now slag, and the unconscious troll. When he finally arrived in the final room, he found what was left of Quirrel a smear on the back wall with Harry and Longbottom sitting and discussing things like where they were in the castle.

He was relatively pleased by this turn of events, as his goal had been accomplished, even if not how he intended. Then came this year.

He had heard the Malfoy's had lost a house elf through the gossip chains, and that they blamed Harry. Good, now Harry could develop the needed rivalry with mini-Malfoy. But alas, it was not to be. Malfoy and Weasley were too focused on each other.

Though when the monster started attacking people, Harry and Longbottom got right too it. Sure some people had some serious injuries, but nothing fatal. And he now knew they were down in the chamber confronting the monster. He just didn't know why they were taking so bloody long...

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_**Chapter 1**_

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**Westover Hall, Maine, USA**

**December 10, 2007**

Percy Jackson wasn't having the best day. After all, he had just been saved by an arrow storm from the woods. The interference was welcome, however, so he inwardly thanked the gods for that. Just for once, he wanted to get to Camp Half-Blood and have a nice, peaceful time. Did that happen? Of course not. His best friend Grover got himself into trouble, again. It wasn't really Grover's fault, but really? Was a break from monsters too much to ask for?

Apparently so.

The Mist-cloak monster hissed in pain as he pulled the arrow out. Percy looked over at his friend and secret crush Annabeth relaxed slightly, "Hunters!"

His cousin, Thalia Grace, who wielded a nasty spear and dressed like a punk, just groaned, "Wonderful...just great."

He looked in shock as to the arrows origins: a group of girls all dressed in silver, all around his age, some even younger. In front was a girl with dark hair adorned by a silver tiara, "Shall I end it, Milady?"

"Y-You can't!" Dr. Thorn raged, snarling at the group with ill concealed malice, outrage and even fear, "The ancient laws forbid this!"

"Not true," a young girl perhaps thirteen in the back stated, "All wild animals are my quarry, Manticore. Your species qualifies, unfortunately for you. Zoe, you may-"

CRACK!

Everything stopped as two loud cracks rent the air, with the Manticore and Artemis being the only ones not confused. Two newcomers who look about twenty. Everybody looks on as the Manticore groans, "Oh not you too again..."

The two whisper to each other in a language Percy doesn't understand, and by the looks on people's faces, nobody else does either. Everybody face palms as the duo plays a game of rock-paper-scissors. The one with neat brown hair stands back with his arms cross, lips pursed. The one with emerald eyes and black messy hair not unlike his own steps forward, raises a wooden stick, and with a flick an energy lance the same color as the man's eyes erupts from the tip and impacts the Manticore square in the chest, reducing it to dust immediately. He sheaths the stick on wrist holster before they both turn and bow lightly to Artemis.

"Harry, Neville. It seems the years have treated you well."

"Indeed, Milady, it has been some time. Though alchemy does have its uses."

Percy turns to Annabeth and Grover, "So...are you guys as confused as me?

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**AN: And so we reach the end of the prologue and chapter one. I plan to make following chapters longer, but I have work and then school later on, so updates will be sparse and irregular for now. But, love it or hate it? Please tell me. But either way, gives specifics on why, as otherwise nothing will change. Till next time.**


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